There is a forest on the edge of town. It's a thick, shady canopy of dense shrubbery and trees. The darkness of the foliage makes it a perfect place for nature lovers. The children of the town whisper stories of the forest's hauntings, in the evenings and around campfires. They speculate about howls, screams, unnatural rustlings. They tell stories of wolves, werewolves, dens of vampires and other blood-feeding creatures. Some kids lay awake at night, listening carefully to the sounds they hear, ready to tell their friends the tales the following day.

History suggests that once wolves and bears did roam the area. There were times when they hid in the forest, but this was followed by times in which men followed them in and hunted them down. They haven't been seen or heard of in decades. So the parents explain this to their children often and with conviction, "many people walk through the forests, some of them every weekend, and they all arrive home to their families in the evenings without even a scratch," they say.

It comes as a surprise when one evening a plume of smoke can be seen over the edge of town. Another wild fire, many people think, in the surrounding farmlands. It happens around this time of year, when everything is so dry and begging for rain. However, the smoke was not from the farmlands, but from the forest itself.

As evening calms towards night, the smoke settles near the ground. An eerie silence permeates as onlookers gather around the burned area, a smear of black upon the emerald of the trees. Friends and neighbors bleed from their front doors, gather in the street with their kids, wide-eyed and rich with speculation. 

'How did this happen?'

'How did it start?'

'How did it stop?'

A commotion can be heard from up the road, then Martin bursts from the shrubbery, tugging a young woman by her arm. She yells, tries to claw at him, but he's pulling her too hard, muttering. He approaches the crowd, throws her down.

'She did it!' he yells.

People gasp. Children clutch parent's calves. 'Martin!' Piotr shouts as he darts from the crowd, offering her a hand.

Vera glances up, face stricken with shock, raises a trembling hand for him to help her up.

'Don't!' Martin yells, slapping his hand away. 'She's a witch. Don't touch her.'

'Shut up, old man,' Piotr takes her hand, lifts her. People in the crowd murmur, turning to their friends' ears and whispering.

'Isn't that the girl who lives on the other side of town?'

'Oh yes, that terrible thing happened in her family about a year ago, do you remember?'

She glances down, dusting her dress, dazed.

'What the hell is wrong with you?' Piotr yells at Martin.

'I caught her in the bushes. She was muttering away. Green smoke coming out of the ground. Look around! Can't you see the green?! It was her! Her fire by magic!'

'Green smoke? Don't be a fool,' someone says to him.

People looked to the smoke, and in the haze of evening there did almost appear to be a green tinge in the air.

'Nonsense, you old sack. You're becoming demented.' Piotr looks at Vera. 'Are you alright?'

Vera nods. 'I was just walking by. I- I didn't know what to do. The fire, there was a fire, and I-' she starts crying. Martin seethes but doesn't say anything more.

Piotr puts his arm over her shoulders. 'It's okay, it's okay. I'll take you home, alright?'

'You're letting her get away with it? She burnt the forest! Almost burned the whole thing down, I'll bet!'

People jeer at Martin and start to thin out as night descends. The fire is over, however it may have started. Piotr leads Vera away.

She slips the emerald up her sleeve.

Vera turns to face Piotr as they reach her front door. She slips his jacket from her shoulders and hands it to him. His blue eyes are wild with kindness, peering at her from behind dark lashes.

'Are you sure you're alright?' he asks.

'I'm sure.' She smiles. 'Thank you.'

The evening air is crisp and slow as it dances through the strands of her hair. Piotr's eyes are soft. He steps forward, draws her into an embrace. 'Don't let that cantankerous old fool get to you.'

Piotr smells of freshness, of earth and something musky. She's always loved that smell.

'Can I offer you something warm for thanks?'

'I wouldn't mind a strong cup of coffee if you have,' he smiles.

Vera turns to the old wooden door of the cottage she lives in. It's in a secluded part of the street, where it's difficult for others to spy through lace curtains and whisper their conspiracies about her, and perhaps about him.

She lifts the key to open the lock but finds it has already been unlocked. Strange. She was sure she had locked the door before leaving. Very sure.

She is suddenly grateful for Piotr, the strong man behind her. Slowly, she presses the handle down, and gradually swings the door open. A slit of her home comes into view and appears normal. She widens it slowly, until the abnormal appears, bit by bit. It begins with the tip of a black boot, then a leg in jeans, a belt buckle, there is a man in one of her sitting room chairs, tilted away from the door, with a book in his hands.

She steps back suddenly, closing the door softly as she does.

'I am feeling rather tired,' she says, 'now that the adrenaline is wearing off.' She smiles ruefully. 'Would you mind a rain check?'

Piotr's eyes droop slightly, but he maintains a smile. 'No problem. Are you sure you're okay?'

'Promise.'

'Alright,' he says, 'next time.' A moment of hesitation, as if he wants to say something more.

His boots make a crunching sound as he retreats down her garden path. Before closing the small metal gate, he lifts his gaze, pauses. And then he's gone.

Vera turns again to her front door. There are very few sounds coming from within the cottage to give her more information. The soft breeze rustles leaves, a door slams somewhere on the street. No sounds from the stranger within. She wonders if he heard any of the conversation that was happening just outside the door.

Slowly, she opens the door again. But this time, the chair is empty. She gazes carefully into the cottage: the dining room appears abandoned. A few chairs sit around a small coffee table. A carpet over wooden floors. Nothing seems out of place from her viewpoint. She peers around the door, catching a slit of the kitchen beyond the dining room, without any hint of movement, or of the man who had been sitting in the chair.

As silently as she can, she creeps inside, leaving the door ajar. From the table just inside, she picks up an old candle holder, bare of a candle. She steps forward, bringing the room into full view.

The man leans against the far wall, gazing at her bookshelf.

'Hello?' she says. 'I think you're lost.'

He turns slowly. From beneath a cowboy hat peek piercing green eyes.

'I think not,' he says, turning the page in the book he's holding.

'Who are you? What do you want?'

He puts the book down. The black boots thump against the wood every time he takes a slow step forward. He arches an eyebrow at the candle holder, a smug grin flitting across his face.

The man holds out a hand. 'Davorin.' She doesn't shake it. 'Although I think you already knew that.'

'Vera.' she says. 'Who are you?'

They regard each other for a few moments. Intelligent green eyes peer at her from beneath the hat, brown curls spattered across his forehead. A slim face with a suggestion of stubble.

'Why would you think that I already know who you are?' Vera says, keeping the candle holder in her hand.

'Quite an impressive collection of books,' he murmurs, raising an eyebrow. 'Rather... esoteric.'

'Thank you.'

He smirks. 'I think you know exactly what I mean.'

Her eyes narrow. 'There's been some kind of mistake. I don't know who you are. Get out.' 

'Hmm,' he chuckles softly, 'a lady with spice. I like that. Alright,' he says. 'I think you took something of mine. Not sure how you knew that I had it or how you knew I was in town. But I would like to have it back. Please.'

Vera scoffed. 'That's ridiculous. Why don't you wait for me next time, instead of barging into my home unannounced. Then this could all have been avoided.' She takes a step to the side and gestures toward the door.

'Hmm,' he says, 'yes that does seem rather... intrusive, doesn't it?' A pointed silence.

He steps closer, murmuring softly now, 'I'll have it back, kindly, preferably within the week. You can leave it on my windowsill. Unless of course you'd like to knock on the door and get to know me.'

With that, Davorin brushes past Vera and leaves her home. Vera peers out of her door, watching him go.